


The Eighth of September

by realtalk127



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Earp sisters, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nicole is head over heals for Waverly, Waverly's Birthday, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught Friendship, Wynonna has some issues, and it shows, but let's be honest, she was dealing with a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24836911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realtalk127/pseuds/realtalk127
Summary: “September 8th.”“September 8th?”Waverly nods slowly, her brow creasing just a bit. “September 8th.”ORAn exploration of Waverly's story told via birthday-related snapshots. Canon-compliant, to the best of my knowledge.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 10
Kudos: 96





	The Eighth of September

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to get these two bits of information out of my head: 
> 
> (1) Waverly's birthday is only FOUR DAYS before Wynonna's and Wynonna still doesn't know when it is. 
> 
> (2) Even in the Wynonna-less universe of 02x11, when she doesn’t even remember that they’re IN A RELATIONSHIP, Nicole knows that Waverly’s birthday is September 8th. 
> 
> This is the fic that happened as a result. (Sorry for dragging Wynonna a little – in her defense, she was going through a lot at the time. And also, it’s not not what happens.)

**— October 25, 2016 —**

“Okay, your turn.” 

“Let’s see… What’s your favorite drink?” 

“ _Waves._ You already know that one.” 

“So?” 

“Whiskey neat. Bour-“

“Bourbon, preferably,” Waverly finishes for her with a wink. She strains on her tip toes to grab the good 12-year stuff from the top shelf and pulls out the stopper with a _pop_. 

“Show off,” Nicole chuckles a little, but holds out her glass for a refill all the same. “Like I said. You already know that one.”

“Whatever,” Waverly says, grinning mischievously. “Your turn.” 

It’s half an hour till closing on a Tuesday night and Shorty’s is very nearly deserted. The only remaining patrons are a couple of regulars chatting quietly at one of the corner tables and an off-duty Officer Haught, who has been seated at the bar since her shift ended an hour ago. 

In fact, said officer seems to be making quite the habit lately out of stopping by whenever she works a swing shift — clocking out for the evening a little before midnight and heading across the street to keep Waverly company while she closes up. 

Not that Waverly minds, of course. 

Just two friends, trading questions and getting to know each other. 

_Yep, that’s what this is._

“I should make you go again for asking such a non-question, but whatever.” Nicole says, but her faux-exasperation is all play and no bite. “What’s your dream job?”

“I think—” Waverly frowns a little as she tries to piece her answer together. Instead, she asks, “Is being a cop yours?”

Nicole tilts her head and raises one incredulous eyebrow. “Yes, but answer the question. And that doesn’t count as one of yours.” 

“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ve always wanted to do something with history or linguistics, I guess. Both, if I can manage it. But nothing feels quite right.” Waverly turns her attention to wiping down the bar as she talks. “The obvious choice is research, but I’m not sure that ‘Academia Proper’ would really be be my thing, you know?”

A glance back in Nicole’s direction tells Waverly that no, Nicole doesn’t know. Her mouth is turned down in a confused frown that comes across as more of a pout, and Waverly wonders — not for the first time — if Officer Haught has any idea how adorable she can be.

“Community college drop-out here. You’re gonna have to expand on that a little for me,” Nicole says.

“What I mean is, I love following my own research rabbit holes when I want to,” Waverly says, ”But do I really want some fancy university position where I have to manage a whole team and then publish a fifty-page thesis with my results? I don’t know about that one.”

“Now that I understand.” Nicole sets her glass down and gives it a little twirl between her fingers, watching the bourbon swirl against the sides. “I love being a cop, but the paperwork alone makes me want to quit about once a week.” 

Waverly laughs a little, “See? Death by bureaucracy. It’s a thing.” 

Nicole turns her attention away from her glass to meet Waverly’s eyes again. And the look Nicole gives her is just so god damn earnest that Waverly feels a little weak in the knees. 

“So what do you want to do?” Nicole asks.

_You._

_(Oh my God, shutupshutupshutUP!)_

“I guess,” Waverly clears her throat and soldiers on (trying her hardest to form a coherent sentence with those god damn puppy dog eyes looking at her), “If we’re talking about a real dream job, I wish there was a way to be kind of like a… a professional Knower of Stuff, you know? Like, just the research part without all the follow-up.” 

Nicole laughs a little. “I like that. You’re already a knower of a lot of stuff, from what I can tell. Just gotta find a way to get paid for it.” 

“Yeah. Getting paid. That’s the main thing.” Waverly sighs heavily. “And I’ll probably need a doctorate or something along the way.” 

“Hey.” Nicole sets down her drink, and there’s that _look_ again. “You’ll figure it out.” 

_Damn her and those eyes. And that face. And-_

“Yeah. Maybe.” 

Nicole looks like she might say something else, but Waverly is not going to let her hijack this conversation for a lets-unpack-Waverlys-insecurities therapy session. “Ah ah ah. My turn. How about… what’s your middle name?”

“Rayleigh.” 

“Really?” 

“No, like ‘ray-lee’.”

“No, I mean, that’s really it?”

“I- Yes.” 

“So you’re telling me,” Waverly starts, barely holding back her amusement, “that your parents basically put Nicole Really Hot on your birth certificate and did it with a straight face?”

“They uh, they don’t seem to have thought it all the way through. Or said it out loud.” 

Waverly giggles a little. “No, I guess not. Although, I can’t say that it’s inaccurate.” 

_I didn’t say that out loud did I?_

“Um!” says Nicole, a little too quickly. _Oh my God, I did say it out loud._

“Your, uh- ” Waverly swallows. “Your turn.” 

“Right.” Nicole drains the rest of her bourbon in one go, but looks relieved to have a reason to change the subject. “W-when’s your birthday?” 

“September 8th.”

“September 8th?”

Waverly nods slowly, her brow creasing just a bit. “September 8th.”

“September 8th,” Nicole says again.

“Uh… yep. September 8th. That’s the one.” _What the-_

“Got it.”

“… Okay?” 

“I’m an auditory learner,” Nicole says a grin and a wink. “Now I’ll never forget.” 

Waverly rolls her eyes. “‘Remember, remember the 8th of September?’ Or something like that?” 

“Good movie, first of all,” Nicole laughs, “And yeah, that’s the goal. Remembering it, that is.” 

There’s silence for a moment, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. The last non-Nicole patron slides out the door and it clicks shut behind them. 

Nicole seems to take that as her cue to leave as well and stands up, shrugging into her coat. “Need any help with clean up?” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m basically done. I’ve been chipping away at it while we talk.” 

“If you’re sure…”

“Positive. Come on, I’ll follow you out — gotta flip the sign anyway.” 

Nicole pauses when they reach the door, and this time the silence is a bit awkward.

“Thanks for coming by again,” Waverly says. 

“Of course. Helps me wind down after a long shift. And the company ain’t bad either.” 

“Sure,” Waverly laughs, the tension broken. “So it has nothing to do with the fact that I pour you Whistle Pig and charge you for Old Crow?”

Nicole laughs, too. “That might be part of it.” She leans into the push bar with her hip, cracking the door open an inch or so. “Anyway. I’m off the next two, but I’m back on for Friday night. I’ll try to come by if you’re working.” 

Waverly nods. “I’d like that. Goodnight, Nicole.” 

“Goodnight.” Nicole says, but makes no move to leave just yet. “You know, I must have just missed it this year. Your birthday, I mean. We only met like a week later.” 

Waverly fails miserably at not looking surprised. “Yeah. We did.” 

(It had been exactly 9 days later, but who’s counting?) 

“What? You think I could forget the day we met?”

“Deputy Haught. You flatter me.” 

Nicole smirks. “I do what I can.” 

Waverly feels goosebumps prick their way up her arms. 

“Oh! Sorry, I’m letting all the cold air in.” 

“No, no, it’s fine. I just, uh- I run cold.” 

Nicole leans fully into the door and pushes it all the way open. “To next year then?” 

“Yeah.” Waverly feels the corner of her mouth turn up involuntarily. “To next year.” 

  


**— September 8, 2002 —**

Waverly drags Mr. Rabbit behind her as she creeps down the stairs, one hand wrapped around his left ear. At the bottom, she pokes her head around the corner, straining on her toes to peer across the dining room and into the kitchen. Silverware clinks periodically, and something that sounds like bacon — and _smells_ like bacon — sizzles and pops. She waits for a few moments, hovering at the foot of the stairs, still unsure how to make an entrance. 

She wishes she felt more comfortable here. And maybe she should feel more comfortable here. After all, this whole arrangement isn’t exactly new. 

Even Before, Gus would sometimes bring them to stay here for a few days. 

_It was usually after one of those nights when Wynonna would rush Waverly into an impromptu game of hide and seek, pushing her with gentle urgency behind dusty boxes and musty hanging coats, whispering, ‘Just stay here for a little while ok? I’ll be back soon, but I need you to stay here. Promise?’_

_It was hard to say whether it was loyalty to Wynonna or the stinging memory of a flat palm ghosting over her cheek that kept Waverly glued to the floor._

_And then Gus would show up at the homestead the next day, after Willa and Wynonna had been seen at school with long sleeves and hoods up, and the three sisters would wait upstairs, listening to Gus’ and Daddy’s increasingly agitated voices drift up to them from below. When Gus poked her head in and told them to grab a change of clothes, Waverly knew it was time to go._

_So no, this latest stay isn’t really all that that different._

_But Willa didn’t come with them this time. And they cannot go back._

Waverly’s about to give up and just go back upstairs when Curtis spots her, leaning around his newspaper to wave her in. 

“Well if it isn’t the birthday girl!”

Unable to run away now (and supposing that’s as good an invitation as any), she pads across the dining room and into the kitchen, taking a seat beside Curtis and situating Mr. Rabbit next to her. 

Mr. Rabbit promptly falls over sideways. 

Curtis sets the newspaper down and turns in his chair to address her. “Well. How does it feel to be seven? Did ya get any taller?” His eyes twinkle with amusement, and he makes a show of inspecting Waverly carefully for any signs of aging. 

“Um,” Waverly says.

“Now, Curtis. Don’t bombard the poor girl with questions so early in the mornin’.” Gus turns around part way from where she stands in front of the stove to give Curtis the very mildest in her arsenal of withering glares. When she turns to address Waverly though, her expression is only soft. “I bet you’re still waking up, aren’t ya darlin’?” 

Waverly nods. 

(She’s been awake since pre-dawn. Another nightmare featuring mostly Willa screaming had jolted her awake hours ago, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Aw, come on now. I’m just excited for our babygirl.” Curtis smiles down at Waverly and ruffles her hair a little. The rough pads of his fingers feel scratchy on her scalp. “Look,” he says, “Your Aunt Gus made ya somethin’ real special.”

On cue, Gus sets a plate down in front of Waverly that contains a sinfully high stack of pancakes, the top of which is adorned with a whipped cream face, half a strawberry cut lengthwise for each eye. 

There’s a single candle too: it’s lit and sticking out of the nose. 

Waverly makes eye contact with the pancake for a moment before looking back to Gus for direction. 

“Go ahead, darlin. Blow it out.”

Waverly reaches for Mr. Rabbit and situates him in her lap so he can help. Together, they blow out the flame, and Gus swoops in to remove the candle before it has a chance to drip wax all over the pancake man’s nose. 

Waverly turns her attention to the task at hand. She looks down at her belly and then back up at her plate, sizing up the stack and wondering if it’s even possible for it all to fit. _Worth a try_ , she supposes, and grabs her fork. Curtis passes her the syrup with a wink, and Waverly feels herself smiling. 

  
When Wynonna makes an appearance a while later, the pancake-eating effort has slowed significantly. Waverly manages a “Hi ‘Nonna” despite a full mouth and puffed out cheeks, and Wynonna plops down into the chair across from her with an answering grunt. 

(One is never sure these days if one will get Zombie Wynonna or Angry Wynonna, and — given that those seem to be the only two options — Waverly very much so prefers the zombie.)

Wynonna’s eyes track around the table, taking in the serving plate of bacon and eggs as well as the fruit and juice available to her before locking in on Waverly’s plate. “Wait, where are the pancakes?”

“Special birthday breakfasts are for special birthday girls.” Gus says with a tone that’s one part chiding, two parts amusement. “Four more days, and there’ll be something special for you too, Miss Almost-Thirteen.”

Waverly watches Wynonna’s eyes widen and lock onto hers. Neither of them says anything, but Waverly can see her sister remember in real time. 

“Um, right,” is all Wynonna says before reaching for the bacon and scooping more than half the pile onto her plate. 

“So,” Curtis says after a minute, “What would you like to do today, birthday girl?“ 

Waverly hadn’t really thought about it. She swallows and eyes her plate again. Despite her best efforts the stack doesn’t seem to be getting any smaller. She starts to cut another bite, but her stomach lurches a little and she thinks better of it. 

“I dunno,” she says, setting her fork down.

Gus pours a tall glass of orange juice and puts it down in front of Wynonna. “If you’re going to eat all that bacon and cover it with that much syrup, you need to at least get some fruit in ya, one way or another.” 

There’s silence again, except for the squirting noise of Wynonna adding even more syrup to her plate. “Well, I think…” Waverly turns to look at Mr. Rabbit in the seat next to her as if asking for input, “I think _Mr. Rabbit_ said he wanted to play tea party with his friends.” 

(Wynonna scoffs a little as a reflex, then cowers under the glare Gus sends her direction.) 

“Well, if that’s what Mr. Rabbit wants to do, I’d say you should do it,” Gus says. She nods at Waverly’s plate. “Slowin’ down there, little lady?” 

“I think I’m full.” 

Wynonna’s eyes go wide again.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Gus cuts her off at the pass. “Juice and a serving of fruit first. Then maybe you can have some of Waverly’s left-overs.” 

Wynonna scowls, but picks up her glass and takes several gulps all in one go, eyes darting to the half-eaten pancakes, as if they’re liable to disappear at any moment. When she turns back to the pile of bacon in front of her, there’s the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“It’s okay, Aunt Gus. I’m done anyway,” Waverly says and pushes the plate across the table, just to see if she can coax Wynonna’s real smile out of hiding. 

It mostly works. 

Waverly pours some juice for herself, and for the first time, it feels a little like a home.

  
*** 

  
It’s not until a few hours later, when they’ve all migrated to the living room, that Waverly is sure what she wants to do today. Gus and Curtis are both reading, and Zombie Wynonna seems to be making an olympic sport out of staring silently out the window. Waverly has arranged a tea party on the floor for Mr. Rabbit and a few of her other stuffed friends, per his request. 

“I think—” Waverly says into the silence. “I think I did get taller.”

“What’s that darlin’?” Gus says without looking up from her book.

“I said, I think maybe I got taller?” Waverly sits up a little straighter, hoping the supporting evidence might help her case. 

Gus and Curtis share a brief look over their reading glasses before something soft and warm works its way across Gus’ face and she nods. It’s Curtis who answers her. “Suppose there’s only one way to find out isn’t there?” 

Waverly holds her breath. 

“Well, come on then,” Curtis says, standing up slowly on stiff knees and beckoning her back to the kitchen with one hand. 

She follows him wordlessly and allows him to place both his hands on her shoulders. He guides her into position with her back against the doorway to the kitchen — the same one she had looked through so longingly just a few hours prior. 

“Let’s see then, shall we?” he says, and reaches into the second drawer down — the one below the utensils — fishing around for a pencil. Upon retrieving one, he turns back to her and crouches down to her eye level. “Okay. Hold still.”

Waverly fidgets a little with excitement, but manages to keep her chin held high. 

“There,” Curtis says, stepping back so she can turn around. “Take a look.” 

It’s strange to see just one pencil inscription marring the otherwise pristine doorframe. It feels rebellious — like that time she saw Pete York carving his initials into a desk at school, hunched over and hiding behind a book. 

_‘Waverly, 7’_

And although there are no marks below to compare it with, Waverly grins up at Curtis with pride. 

**— September 8, 2007 —**

At age 12, it’s gotten a lot easier to ask for what she wants on her birthday, but not always easier to get it. 

“Darlin’, you know we can do whatever you want on your birthday,” Gus tries for what feels like the hundredth time. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Waverly doesn’t miss the warning glance Curtis throws over her shoulder at his wife. 

“I _want_ ,” Waverly says, fists clenching at her sides, “to go see her.” 

“Okay. Okay, if that’s really what you want, we’ll go,” Gus says, shaking her head. 

Waverly isn’t sure what’s so hard to understand. Visiting hours are only on _Saturdays_. She did not get to see Wynonna on her birthday last year (a Friday). The year before that, Wynonna wasn’t in juvie, but she was at that _facility_ , with an even stricter visitation policy. 

For once, there is nothing stopping all four of them from being together on Waverly’s birthday, and she intends to do something about it. 

“You know Wednesday is her-“ 

“Gus. I know. You said we can do whatever I want. _This is_ whatever I want.”

It doesn’t matter that Wynonna is turning 18 next week — at which point the Hall can’t keep her, and she’ll be released. Waverly’s not naive enough to think that ‘out of juvie’ will also mean ‘home’ — not for Wynonna. 

No, it has to be today.

**— September 8, 2016 —**

_You know who it is. Don’t leave a message._

BEEP. 

Waverly sighs and hangs up. It’s the third time her call has gone to voicemail, but she really doesn’t want to have to leave a message. 

Wynonna may deserve a lot of things, but she doesn’t deserve to hear this news in a voicemail. 

She slides off the porch railing and ducks her head a little to glance through the window. Gus is still sitting statue-like at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around the untouched mug of coffee Waverly had placed there hours ago. 

Deciding that ‘catatonic but unchanged’ is probably the best she can hope for at the moment, Waverly resumes pacing up and down the porch. 

It’s been a tragically beautiful day, and she’s spent most of it out here — unwilling to leave Gus alone on the ranch and yet unable to endure the deafening quiet inside the house. She knows she needs to go back in there soon, but as long as there are still funeral-related calls to make, she can convince herself she’s being helpful by staying out here. 

_‘Helpful.’ Yeah, that’s what we’ll call it._

Waverly flips back to her text thread with Wynonna’s latest number and stares down at the endless string of unanswered blue bubbles. 

[10:03am] _Hey Wynonna, it’s Waverly._

[10:07am] _I wasn’t sure if you have this number in your new phone, but I need to talk to you._

[10:23am] _It’s important._

[10:36am] _Please call me when you get this._

[11:01am] _Listen, can you just let me know if these are even getting through to you?_

[1:36pm] _Wynonna, please call me back. I know it’s getting late over there, and I need to talk to you today._

[1:42pm] _It’s about Curtis._

After the last text went through, three dots popped up on Wynonna’s side of the conversation, and then disappeared again. They reappeared one more time a minute or two later before disappearing for good. 

It’s now nearly 4:30 in the afternoon. 

She flips open Safari and starts to type in _‘current time, Greece’._

(As if she doesn’t already have all the hourly conversions memorized for three different European time zones.) 

Waverly feels a flash of annoyance at herself for spending so much god damn mental energy on someone who seems to have no problem blatantly ignoring her. 

  
GMT +3  
1:30am. 

  
She knew that, of course, but she sighs at the reminder anyway.

With anyone else, Waverly would say it’s too much to hope that Wynonna is still awake at this point, but then, it _is_ Wynonna. 

She considers trying one more text, but shakes her head to no one in particular and navigates back to recent calls. She taps on the one that says “Wynonna new phone — USE THIS ONE” (which would seem redundant if she didn’t also have “Wynonna”, “Wynonna new”, “Wynonna NEW new”, and “Wynonna — Spain only” as existing contacts). The voicemail recording kicks in after just one ring, and Waverly feels the sting of deliberate, pre-meditated rejection. 

_You know who it is. Don’t leave a message._

Well, it’s not ideal. But then, Waverly supposes, that’s not her fault. 

“Hey Wynonna. It’s me, but I guess you knew that.” She takes the porch steps two at a time as she talks, walking briskly away from the house. She’s not sure how much Gus may or may not be listening in on her calls, but she wants to be truly out of earshot for this one. “Listen- there’s something I need to tell you.”

She’s been talking with people about Curtis all day, of course. All day today and all day yesterday. Talk about plans for the service. Talk about What He Would Have Wanted. Talk about _what a great person he was_ , and _thank you for your condolences_ , and _Gus is doing as well as can be expected, thanks for asking_. 

But the advantage of a small town is that Waverly hasn’t had to _say it_ yet. When everyone knows everything about everyone, there’s no need. 

A pause. This is it. 

“Curtis is dead. He’s…” She sucks in a quick, involuntary breath that feels, despite her best efforts, like a sob’s not-so-distant relative — and it’s not really clear to Waverly whether the tears are actually about Curtis at this point. “God dammit Wynonna just pick up your phone for once _please_ , and call me back.” 

She pauses for a moment, as if leaving space for an answer that won’t come. 

“Anyway.” Another shaky sigh. “The service is on your birthday. Sorry about that, I guess, but it’s the only day that worked. It’s at the ranch at 11am.” 

She wonders if the invitation-slash-request has been clear enough and adds: “That’s four days away, so you could probably make it.”

Another pause. 

“It would really mean a lot to Gus if you could come.” 

  
“Anyway. Call me.” 

Waverly hangs up. 

  


**— September 1, 2017 —**

  
Nicole pokes her head into the BBD office. Wynonna is alone with her feet up on the main desk and her chair rocked back on two legs, staring down the cork board of Bulshar-related information like she’s going to burn a hole in it. 

Nicole waits a few moments to be noticed, then clears her throat by way of announcement. 

Still nothing.

She raps her knuckles on the door lightly. “Hey Wyno-“

Wynonna startles, leaning back precariously for a moment before forcing her weight forward and bringing the chair back into balance. “Jesus, Haught! Warn a girl!”

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Nicole raises both hands in surrender. She nods at the cork board. “Didn’t know you had that level of concentration in you.” 

“Shut up.” 

Nicole lets herself in and takes a seat on the edge of the desk. 

“Hey so, I’m ironing out my plans for next Friday, and I just wanted to check in to make sure it doesn’t interfere with anything you have planned.” 

“Why would I ever have anything planned a week in advance?” Wynonna says like it’s the dumbest question she’s ever heard. 

Nicole raises her eyebrows. “Do you know what day it is today?” 

Wynonna rolls her eyes and glances down at her phone lock screen. “September 1st. And?”

“Right. September 1st.” Nicole really can’t believe she’s going to have to spell this out. “ _And_ … what is one plus seven?”

“I didn’t pass a lot of classes, but I did pass the first grade, Nicole. Eight.” 

“Right. One plus seven is eight, which means…” _Oh my God she still doesn’t get it._ “It means that next Friday — which is _one week_ from today — is September 8th.” 

… 

“September _8th_ , Wynonna.” 

“Oh _fuck_.” 

“There it is.” 

“Fuckity fuck.”

“Okay listen—”

“Fuck fuck FUCK,” Wynonna says and facepalms.

“Okay! It’s okay! You remembered, and you still have a whole week to get her a present or whatever.” 

“But that means I have to actually _‘get her a present or whatever’_.” Wynonna sighs an exasperated sigh. “What are you planning anyway?”

“Are you sure you want an answer to that question?” Nicole wiggles her eyebrows. 

Wynnona gags. “Nope. I do not need to know.” 

Nicole shoves Wynonna’s shoulder and almost tips her chair over again. “I’m just kidding. It’s like ninety percent PG.” She pauses, making a show of thinking carefully. “Well… eighty maybe? Seventy-five?” 

“Oh for Christ sake, don’t tell me then! I don’t need the minute-by-minute breakdown.” 

Nicole’s grin is positively shit-eating. 

“For real though. I’ve gotta think of something good.“ Wynonna gets up and starts pacing the room. “Too many to make up for.” The last part is quieter, and Nicole’s heart breaks a little — for both sisters.

“I’m sure whatever you come up with, she’ll love it,” Nicole says, even though she knows the present-selection process isn’t the real problem here.

“You want to know something crazy?” Wynonna asks, turning around to face her. “The last birthday I spent with her she was turning _twelve_. Twelve! She came to see me in the Hall on _her_ birthday. And then I turned eighteen a couple days later and peaced the hell out. God, I was such an asshole.” 

Nicole chooses to neither confirm nor deny that allegation, but pats the spot next to her on the desk. 

Wynonna accepts the invitation and sits down, shoulders slumped. “You know I just barely missed it last year? We could have celebrated late or something, but I was so caught up in my own shit that I didn’t even realize I had missed it until way later.”

“Yeah. I just missed it last year too,” Nicole says. 

“And now this year…” Wynonna trails off. 

There’s no need to ask what she means. Alice Michelle came and went just three weeks ago, and the wound is still fresh for all of them.

Nicole considers the dinner reservation she made at the fancy vegan place in the big city, then weighs it against everything she’s learned in the last ten minutes. There’s no question what she would prefer, but then, it’s not her birthday. Maybe it’s not too late to push that reservation back. She could always save that idea for their anniversary, right? 

“Well, I didn’t have any _concrete_ plans…” she says. 

“Bullshit,” says Wynonna. 

Nicole smirks, but ignores the comment. “Maybe we could plan a little get-together… you know, together?”

“Oh we could, could we?” 

“Yeah, you know… The whole gang, dinner at the homestead, bonfire after — that kind of thing.” 

“Gross. Take your rom com energy somewhere else.” 

A pause. “I mean, if you wanna just plan something on your own then—” 

“Okay! Fine. Let’s do it. We can barbecue some chickpeas or whatever the hell.”

“I don’t think-“ 

“Or lentils? I don’t know. Do vegans even grill?” 

“I think so, just not—“

“Should we do a surprise?” Wynonna’s eye go wide. “Oo! A surprise party! With confetti poppers and—” 

“Wynonna wait. Slow down. I’ll help you figure out the vegan menu, but… I think maybe a surprise is a bad idea. We can surprise her with the details but-“

“Oh.” 

“We can’t—” 

“No, I get it.” Wynonna sighs. 

“We can’t let her wonder if we’ve forgotten until the last minute. It’s too… ” Nicole pauses, trying to find the right word. 

“Realistic?” 

“Yeah.” 

Wynonna meets her eyes, then nods and turns away again. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

The air in the room feels heavy again, and Nicole tries to recover some of the excitement from moments before. “You could just tell her you’ve got something planned for Friday night and for her to be available. Then the rest can be a surprise.” She offers what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

“ _I’ll_ tell her _I’ve_ got something planned?” 

“If I tell her, she’ll just think I planned something on my own and dragged you into it.” 

“That’s literally what happened,” Wynonna deadpans.

“Not the way I remember it. You’ve been planning this all week, remember?” 

Wynonna’s eyes narrow. “Naughty Haughty.” 

“Just sayin’, Earp. Sounds like a damn good party you’ve got planned.” 

Nicole smiles, and in a rare display of unironic amusement, Wynonna smiles back. 

“Also… Let’s do this,” Nicole says, reaching for Wynonna’s phone on the desk. “Thumb?” She grabs Wynonna’s hand and forces her thumb over the fingerprint reader to unlock it. 

Wynonna squirms and grabs her hand back as soon as possible, but leans in to look over Nicole’s shoulder as she taps away. When she’s done, Nicole turns the phone to show her. 

_New event:_

_Waverly’s Birthday_  
_Repeat: Yearly_  
_End: Never_  
_Reminder: 2 weeks before event._

“Know thyself, Earp.” 

Wynonna makes a face. “ _Know thyself_ ,” she sing-songs back. 

(She also hits ‘save’ on the new event before slipping the phone back into her pocket.)

Nicole thinks it would be a vast understatement to say she doesn’t have much in common with Wynonna. In fact Nicole would be hard pressed to find just one thing that Wynonna truly “gets” about her, except… 

Except that Wynonna _does_ get her about Waverly — about the way they both love Waverly.

It’s a weird foundation for a friendship, to be sure — mutual respect eventually budding into gratitude, then appreciation, and finally affection in its own right — separate from, but still related to, that foundational devotion to Waverly. A friendship born out of their shared belief that Waverly is worth absolutely everything.

Nicole _loves_ loving Waverly, all the time — with flowers and smiles and ‘thinking-of-you’ texts — but there’s something different about this, about loving Waverly in tandem with Wynonna. 

Loving Waverly together feels _sacred_.

“Welp. Big gulps, eh?” Wynonna slaps her knees and stands, the moment broken.

“A Dumb and Dumber reference? Really?“

But Wynonna is already up and on her way out the door. 

“Haught! Hurry up! We’ve only got a week to plan this damn party!” 

“And whose fault is that?!” Nicole yells back, shaking her head and jogging out of the room after her. 

_This is going to be perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, there it is folks. Been chewing on this little idea for quite a while – I hope you liked it. I thought about writing the birthday party itself, but that's not really the point here. It's really about everything that came before. 
> 
> A couple of other canon-adjacent head canons that I’m fleshing out here: 
> 
> (a) Curtis almost certainly dies on or near Waverly’s birthday. I chose to write it as the day before, but it could have been on the day of, or shortly after. Either way, it really sucks, and never gets acknowledged – which is somehow even more sad. 
> 
> (b) Waverly and Nicole must have done some more get-to-know-you time pre-1x09 that we don’t see. Other than that it’s just like three extremely awkward conversations and a ton of googly eyes. 
> 
> (c) Ward resented Waverly > Michelle resented Ward > Gus is Michelle’s sister > Gus probably wasn’t Ward’s biggest fan – vis à vis: Gus has always had a soft spot for Waverly (and continued to harbor a little resentment for Wynonna). 
> 
> (d) In the pilot, Waverly does text Wynonna “happy birthday” – in all caps, with like a zillion exclamation points. I kind of love the idea of s1/pre-Nicole Waverly just steamrolling through the rejection of Wynonna ignoring her calls to wish her a cheery happy birthday anyway (in part to save Wynonna from the same pain of having her birthday forgotten). 
> 
> (e) Curtis coined ‘babygirl’ – don’t @ me. I will die on this head canon hill. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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